


The Apex of it All

by sheafrotherdon



Series: Farm in Iowa Apocrypha. [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-19
Updated: 2008-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's been tinkering with the truck for the better part of the afternoon by the time Rodney makes it out to the garage (presumably to see if he's electrocuted himself or stuck spark plugs up his nose or done any one of the other hundred things Rodney seems convinced will happen if he's left unsupervised too long).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apex of it All

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://www.rte.ie/news/2008/0416/ferriswheel.html). Thanks to dogeared for betaing!

John's been tinkering with the truck for the better part of the afternoon by the time Rodney makes it out to the garage (presumably to see if he's electrocuted himself or stuck spark plugs up his nose or done any one of the other hundred things Rodney seems convinced will happen if he's left unsupervised too long).

"Changing the oil," John calls from under the chassis.

Rodney's boots (with Rodney in them, John supposes, but he can't see much beside scuffed toes and double-knotted laces) come to a halt. "Oh. Right-o."

John pauses as he tries to get the truck's stubborn oil cap to come unscrewed. "What?"

"Um. You know. Nothing." The boots shuffle back and forth.

John rolls his eyes and sets to shimmying out from under the truck. It's not a particularly quick or elegant process – he doesn't have a creeper, or a skateboard he's willing to risk getting stained with oil – but Rodney seems inclined toward patience, which is helpful and worrying in roughly equal measure. "Right-o?" he asks when he's all the way out but still lying on his back.

Rodney blinks at him. "Dnggh?"

John raises an eyebrow. "Okay, then."

"I – " Rodney pinks up and covers his mouth while he coughs, then waves a hand in a feeble, embarrassed fashion. "You were – with the hips," he says awkwardly, and it doesn't seem to help his composure any when John stands and has to yank his jeans up a little as he does so – they're unbelted and loose and without a little help they'll show more torso than's probably decent in this part of the state.

"Right-o?" John asks again. He ambles to his workbench and picks through the rags there to find one that's not completely trashed already.

Rodney clears his throat and lifts his chin. "Yes. Well. I was – just." He nods emphatically and crumples the piece paper he's holding in his hand. "Nice – nice afternoon? With . . . " He gestures toward the truck. "Truck stuff?"

John freezes in his attempt to clean up his hands and narrows his eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." The reply's far too quick to be true. "Nothing at all, why would I, why would I, what are you saying?"

"Rodney . . . "

Rodney colors up in all new places. "I just – well I _saw_ it and then I checked it out and it wasn't a scam and besides I could – they pay me too much!"

John watches him warily. "Have you been drinking?"

"You mean – coffee?" Rodney asks, confused.

"Scotch. Absinthe. Lighter fluid."

" _Absinthe_?" Rodney splutters. "Right, right, yes, because I'm some terrible 1920s sweater-wearing _writer_ who – "

John smirks. "Someone likes the modernists . . ." he mumbles.

"I – I – " Rodney gestures again, hands trying to sketch out some terrifying tool for dismembering Iowans, John suspects. "I _bought_ you something," he manages at last.

"Bought me something?" This changes things – and John feels a wicked grin work its way across his face.

"Yes," Rodney says, sounding a little pained. "A present. A really good present. But see it's – " He looks at the paper. "You can't exactly keep it. At least, not here."

John frowns – it's entirely possibly he's pouting. "Why not?"

"Because we don't have the proper permits. Or room. Or, you know, enough electricity. Not that that would be a problem, since it's solar-fitted now, and I could rig up a transformer that would – but, that's so not the point . . . "

John sets down his rag. "What _is_ the point?"

Rodney swallows.

"Spit it out . . . "

"Here," Rodney says, and thrusts the paper in John's direction, retreating as soon as John takes it and stuffing his hands under his armpits.

"It's . . . " _Upside down_ , John thinks as he turns the paper around in his hands. "A . . ." He blinks and looks up at Rodney, then back at the print out, then up at Rodney again. "Did – I . . ."

"They were selling it and half the money went to Special Olympics, and we could put it at the county fair grounds, I thought, and you could go there whenever you wanted and make everyone else get off so that you could have it all to yourself, and maybe we could – well. You know. There are certain opportunities that I have never actually taken advantage of that come from stopping at the top of one of those things and just – I'm not sure it would be that much of a turn on, myself, because it wobbles and unless it's summer it'd be cold, quite cold, very cold, wind and everything, but anyway, yes, I bought it, it's yours."

John blinks and looks back at the receipt he's holding – a receipt for [the Santa Monica Ferris Wheel](http://cgi.ebay.com/The-Original-Pacific-Wheel-Ferris-Wheel_W0QQcmdZViewItemQQcategoryZ13878QQihZ019QQitemZ290222956722QQrdZ1); correction, the _ex_ Santa Monica Ferris Wheel, because apparently the man who's standing six feet away from him and who steals all the covers four nights out of five has _bought him a Ferris Wheel_ and, "Wow. Whoah." John steadies himself with a hand on the hood of the truck. "I . . ."

"It's a lot of money but I have a lot of money, an obnoxious amount actually, and I'm sure I should be saving children in," Rodney points north, "places, but I can do that too, plus I've saved them from the Ori six or seven times already, so I think I can probably spend my money as I want without any crisis of conscience particularly, and just – well, I knew it would make you happy and I like that." He shuffles his feet. "You, I mean."

John's head's spinning in all kinds of new and creative ways – and after that night in Reykjavík he really thought he knew all the ways in which a head could spin – and there's adrenaline flooding his veins and his hands are shaking and, "Wow, Rodney – I just . . . _Rodney_." It's only two and a half steps to crash right into Rodney's personal space, but they're fraught steps considering the way John's head is misbehaving on four or five different levels, and his heart's hammering in his chest like the day Rodney came back out of the blue. "Holy shit," he whispers and yanks him in, kisses him, hot and messy, an artless kiss that has Rodney whimpering in under ten seconds. John pulls back, stares at Rodney for several moments of truly creepy out-of-body calm – then grabs his hand and pulls him toward the house.

"Do you like it?" Rodney says from somewhere just behind him, _oof_ -ing slightly as he stumbles. "Is this a liking it thing?"

John doesn't say anything – just jogs the last few steps, fingers still tight around Rodney's wrist and he doesn't let go until they're in the kitchen and he needs one hand to hold the telephone receiver and one to dial Laura's house. "Laura?" he asks when she picks up on the second ring. "Can you take Finn for the night?" He watches Rodney, his breath coming hard; he tries steady it. "No, nothing's wrong. Rodney just bought me a Ferris Wheel." He nods and watches Rodney flush, grins wildly as Rodney ducks his head and smiles. "Yeah, soon as you can come get him, that'd be great. Bye." And he hangs up, yanks Rodney back in by his shirt and kisses him clumsily, deigns to pull back just long enough to yell, "Jumper! Sleepover at Laura's!" and then he's leaning in again.

They get Finn packed – pajamas and two changes of shirt in a duffel; his toothbrush, elephant, grape juice and books – and if they kiss a little more than usual between each task, causing Finn to cackle and say "Daddies? You _slobbery_ ," it's all well and good, just enough to keep them from reaching a boil until Finn's jumping down the porch steps and happily throwing himself in the back of Laura's car.

"Have fun!" John yells, want like a blistering under his skin.

"You too!" Laura yells back, giving him the thumbs up and beside him, Rodney swears.

He's swearing for a whole different reason about thirty seconds later, shoved into the kitchen, slammed back against the wall, and when John drops to his knees and mouths Rodney's cock through khakis and boxer shorts Rodney curses so colorfully John's half a mind to laugh. "Bought me a Ferris Wheel," he whispers instead, looking up at Rodney's stunned expression, his weekend-stubble, familiar face.

"Uh-huh," Rodney nods, and then John's working at his zipper, pulling him free, and he's no idea how Rodney looks after that, because he always does his best work with his eyes closed. He hollows his cheeks, takes Rodney deep and pulls back slowly, relishes the groan that rumbles up from Rodney's belly, the sudden clutch of fingers in his hair. "Yeah," John whispers, pulling off for a second, lapping and blowing at just the head. "Yeah, c'mon," and he loosens his jaw, takes Rodney in, flexes his fingers at Rodney's hips and moans with approval when Rodney rocks forward, hesitant at first. It takes a little encouragement for Rodney to get the message, but every noise John makes at every slick, urgent movement makes him come unraveled, makes him thrust a little harder, and god, John _loves_ it, loves this, loves _him_.

When he comes, it's messy – John swallows what he can, but there's come on his chin, and when Rodney collapses on his knees in front of him, licks his way into his mouth, John groans and happily lets Rodney push him back onto the floor. He's so hard Rodney barely has time to jack him at all before he's coming all over his oil-stained t-shirt, gasping Rodney's name, moaning into Rodney's mouth as they slump back against the kitchen rug together, kissing haphazardly, bodies trembling with shock.

"That," Rodney whispers, looking dazed, "was filthy." He sounds awed.

John laughs and rolls closer, laps at the curve of Rodney's mouth. "You bought me a Ferris Wheel," he whispers into the shell of Rodney's ear.

Rodney shivers beneath him. "Wanna tell me how much you liked it in bed?" he asks weakly.

John inhales the soap and sweat scent of Rodney's neck, fumbles his way to another kiss and smiles before he murmurs, "only for the rest of your life, I guess."

And Rodney's smile's a punch of belonging – John feels the force of it bleed out of him like light, and the world might still be spinning, but it feels like they've paused. He fumbles for Rodney's hand.


End file.
